Minus America
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Tabby continued to smile with her eyes.
Audrey appeared to relax. She figured it had more to do with Peter than her, but she kept at it. Donovan seemed to get something out of the pause, too, so she hoped it calmed everyone.
While she had their attention, she held up three fingers, then two, then one. Finally, she waved for them to follow her.
Each panicky stop consumed more air. She wanted to make the next segment go as fast as possible, so they could put in some distance. She kicked her bare feet as hard as she could to move fast down the tunnel. Her wrist flashlight focused on the tracks ahead, though the pool of darkness further down the carved tunnel never seemed to brighten.
“Please have an ending,” she thought.
Her body was on the verge of shivering from the cold, but she was somewhat used to the feeling. Dad had taken her swimming and diving in this water for years. The other three would be freezing in it, of that she had no doubt.
“Hang on guys, we’ll warm up at the surface.”
Ahead, there were nothing but question marks. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know if there was a destination. If there was, she didn’t know how to get there.
A few minutes later, she reached a slight bend in the tunnel.
It was time to look back.
CHAPTER 18
Newport News, VA
Kyla and her laptop bag trudged along behind the Marine named Parsons. He was so large it was difficult to see around him, but she talked to his back. “So, you guys were down below when the attack happened?”
The big guy looked over his shoulder. “We were here on a FAST training exercise. We’re with the Fleet Anti-terrorism Security Team.”
“And you happened to be here when the poop sprayed on the fan,” she said jokingly.
Parsons seemed put out. “What are you saying, dog?”
“Oh, I don’t mean anything. I just think it’s good luck you guys were here to take over when the rest of the sailors on the ship disappeared.” She pointed up. “Especially since those fake Marines caused so much trouble.”
They walked the gangway for a few more paces before Parsons spoke again. “FAST units deployed to several ships last night. Someone must have gotten wind of this thing.”
“Let’s keep it down,” Carthager said from a few men ahead. “We’re going through the cafeteria.”
The low ceilings and metal bulkheads made the giant ship seem confining as they walked through the hallway. However, the seating and tables of the dining hall opened things up a bit.
The Marines fanned out as they crossed the room, though Kyla purposefully stuck behind Parsons. If there was an enemy on the far side, they wouldn’t even see her behind the hulking black man.
Sergeant Carthager held up a hand and everyone took a knee. The Marines had their rifles out, always searching for something to kill, but Kyla kept her pistol holstered in her chinos. The pop gun, as the Marine leader had called it, would hardly be useful compared to the big rifles in the room.
A tapping sound became evident as they waited. She’d heard it before, but the ship made a lot of different sounds. Fans. Pumps. Metallic grinding of machinery.
“Do you hear it?” Carthager asked the squad.
“It’s an S-O-S,” Meechum whispered from a distant table.
“That’s what I’m hearing,” the sergeant replied. “Okay. Keep it tight. Head for the nearest ladderway. I think it’s coming from below.”
Meechum hopped up and fast-walked for the other side. The rest of the Marines swept across the seating area before they went through double-doors to the hallway. When Kyla came through, Meechum was already at the next stairwell. The woman warrior gave Carthager a thumbs-up, then went down.
On the next level, the clanging S-O-S became louder.
“What do you—” Kyla started to say.
“Shh!” Parsons cut in. “We’re hunting wabbit,” he whispered.
A few of the nearby Marines snickered.
Meechum seemed to lead them on a random path through the ship. Sometimes she would go toward the back, only to turn around and head toward the front. They went through the bunk area. A long supply compartment. More bunks. Eventually, she figured out the Marine was zeroing in on the sounds.
They kept going down.
When they got to a steel door with a rope attached to keep it from opening, Meechum stopped and pointed like a bird dog at her prize.
“Spread out,” Carthager ordered.
Kyla saw what was about to happen, and she thought back to how she’d been able to help the Marines by going out to rescue the injured sailor. Whether the man died was irrelevant; she’d risked her life so the guys with guns could do their job.
“I can open it,” she blurted out a little too loud.
Carthager flashed a look suitable for the hounds of Hell. His whisper was quiet but carried all his authority. “Parsons! If she says another word, shut her up!”
Parsons growled, making Kyla wonder if that was for real or show.
She shut up.
Meechum cut the rope and pushed the door open. She and two men shoved through the hatch with rifles drawn.
Kyla realized how stupid it was to try to out-hero these guys, but she wanted to participate wherever possible. Being the damsel in distress wasn’t her style.
She held her breath while waiting for the sounds of gunfire, explosions, or even shouting. After about thirty seconds, Meechum came back out looking relaxed, followed by a man. He was dressed in a white Navy uniform with a rank on his shoulder of four gold stripes and a star.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Kyla couldn’t stop her own mouth.
“Captain?”
Washington, DC
Ted and Ramirez took a few minutes to study the gate and fence around the White House. Because everything else was unlocked, he assumed the front gate would be easy to open. However, he found security there was buttoned up tight even though no one was in the gatehouse.
“I don’t suppose the VP gave you a key?” ER asked sarcastically.
“No, but she did give me the garage door code.”
“Really?”
“Hell no,” Ted snickered. “We’re going to have to climb the fence.” Ted put his hands on the bars, intending to scale it.
“Wait,” ER insisted. “We should find a truck that can break down the gate. What if we find something too big to lift back over the fence? I don’t want to leave anything behind.”
“What are you planning on taking? The refrigerator?” Ted meant it as a joke, but after he’d said it, it dawned on him how the soldier could have orders he didn’t know about. General Charleston wasn’t exactly supportive of Ted’s go-it-alone mission, which was why he sent his own man.
“You wish. There’s a hot painting of Mrs. Lincoln I’ve had my eye on.”
Ted was resigned to shaking his head.
“What? Everything is free for the taking, right? Can you blame me if my tastes in women run about a hundred and fifty years behind? I’m going to take if off the wall and hide it in an Arby’s bathroom. I’ll come and get it later when things look better out there.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything,” he said dryly. Ted wasn’t sure he believed the guy was out for artwork, but he was out for something. Up until that moment, he expected to find the president in a safe room or bunker, but if no one was there, the people’s house would no doubt be looted.
“There must be vehicles close by.” Ramirez motioned toward the tall buildings of downtown, which were only a few blocks away. “This town is always under construction.”
He could have easily hopped the fence and completed his mission, but there was some logic to having a larger vehicle. Ramirez talked about removing art, which wasn’t his concern, but perhaps he was on to something. It was the seat of power in the United States; who knows what would be useful.
Whatever they took, it would be safer to have the vehicle at the door.
They passed the gate and walked east toward the row of buildings. The park-like area of the White House contrasted sharply with the stone and steel cityscape, but once they were in the city, it was typical of most American downtowns. The only major difference was that this urban center had no skyscrapers because of old architectural laws for the city. It was an aviation quirk he’d been told when flying out of Andrews, but he’d first heard about the rule in a game of Trivial Pursuit.
They strode around a corner, avoiding several clumps of lost clothes, but stopped right away because of a fire.
“Fuck this,” Ramirez exclaimed.
A small tanker truck had run into a shop on the ground floor of a five-story office building. Based on the intense flames along that part of the street, and up the side of the doomed structure, it appeared as if the vehicle had blown up on impact.
Flames had jumped to an adjacent building and seemed to spread there, too.
“So, we go this way,” Ted pointed down a different street.
“Good call.”
Ted tried to engage in small talk. “So, still think art is your best target from inside the White House? With no fire departments, fires are going to be a real problem. If you hide the paintings in an Arby’s, it might burn up.”
“You think the president has jewels and gold stashed in there? I’d settle for those.”
“Of all the possible people on that plane,” Ted thought, “I get paired up with a common thief.”
The thief was right about one thing, however. Ahead, a giant red, white, and blue dump truck sat quietly up against a parked police car, as if it had T-boned it.
They had their gate crasher.
Poor Sisters Convent, Oakville, MO
Sister Rose wasn’t a dog person; she’d never had one as a kid. In her mind, there was only one outcome possible. It would jump through the broken front window, scurry over the seats, then eat her like kibble.
Yet the wolf-dog sat outside her closed door like it had the patience of Job.
She tried again to wave her hands as if to say, “shoo!”
That seemed to excite the creature. It stood up and walked in a circle, giving her a good look at its powerful legs and giant paws. Its silvery coat was well-kept, as if it had recently been combed straight. The dog seemed alert and intuitive, as if it knew she was the person it had been looking for.
She finally noticed the thin leash dragging behind it. The line was attached to a collar well-hidden by the fur.
“Where is your owner?” she thought for a few seconds. “Let me guess… She has been raptured, too.”
Rose took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet odor of fruit. That was curious, given the circumstances, so she peeled her eyes from the dog to see what caused it.
It was a short search.
Both seatbelts remained fastened in the back seat. Boy’s clothes were in the seat next to her, still held down by the restraint. The second person, now underneath her, once wore the colorful pants and blouse of a young girl.
Two slushy fruit drinks melted together on the floorboard on the far side.
“Oh dear,” she thought. She’d failed to look at the seat when she came inside the car. It horrified her to know she’d desecrated their belongings.
Sister Rose knew what she had to do. After making the sign of the cross to fortify herself to the necessity, she opened the door to get out.
The dog stood up and hopped around, like it was happy she was making herself an easy target.
Given the choice, she was willing to endure a painful bite rather than soil the memory of those who had been chosen by God.
Rose held her hands to her shoulders, as if to keep them far away from the deadly-looking teeth.
The animal ran around her feet a few times, dragging the leash along her ankles.
“Shoo,” she said with her arms as she began the perilous journey back to her front door.
The dog didn’t listen. It paced her as she steadily made her way across the grass of the front lawn, and it stayed next to her as she walked onto the parking lot.
“Please help me, God,” she prayed silently.
The leash made a scraping noise as the wolf-dog stalked her on the pavement.
Rose clenched her jaw as she walked up the path to the front door. She had to get there first, lest the dog go inside. That would cancel her refuge in an instant.
She picked up the pace.
The dog matched her by trotting faster.
Her breathing became fast and shallow, as if her body was readying for the painful bite. Rose was absolutely certain it was about to jump in the air and cling to her back, so she turned around to make sure. She was only a few yards from the front door, but the distraction made her lose her direction and she instantly tripped on one of the low landscaping steps.
“Oof,” she said aloud by accident. Not really a word, she thought.
But the dog…
It came at her like it knew she’d been hurt and was vulnerable for the killing blow.
Before she could so much as move, the wet snout of the angry-looking beast was in her face. Those teeth were white and clean but looked terribly sharp.
“This is going to hurt,” she imagined.
She closed her eyes, momentarily forgetting everything, including how to pray.
Sister Rose was overcome with a new, horrifying odor.
Dog breath.
CHAPTER 19
Washington, D.C.
“This pig is one hundred percent loaded,” Ted noted while he worked the gears of the dump truck.
“Must have been going to a job,” Ramirez replied. “It’s great for us. This will plow down that gate like nobody’s business.”
He got the truck up to speed and handled it through a few corners in the business district. It was easy to stay away from the burning building they’d seen coming in, but there were other fires, too.
A couple of cars smoldered under their hoods, most likely from accidents.
A CVS pharmacy was ablaze for reasons unknown.
Far down the streets, other plumes of smoke suggested more.
“We should find a fire truck next,” Ted suggested. “We could stay pretty busy.”
The dump truck made short work of pushing abandoned vehicles out of the way. Most were lone cars or trucks, but he had to shove three black SUVs in a row on one street, as if they were part of a convoy.
“There it is.” Ramirez pointed with excitement.
The White House was a block away to the south, beyond a park featuring a statue of a man on a horse.
“You cutting through?” ER asked.
“It’s the only way.”
They weren’t able to drive the truck up to the fence of the White House using the streets because there were security pillars blocking the way. The retractable barriers came out of the ground in the middle of the road so cars couldn’t get close to the White House and hit the gate or detonate a bomb. To get around all that nonsense, he planned to cut across the park.
He didn’t stop when he got to the edge of the green space. The truck crunched over a small fence and went onto the wide walkway. Ted did his best to avoid driving on tourists; their clothes were everywhere.
They went by the thirty-foot-tall horse and rider, but he didn’t give it a second glance. The White House grounds were right ahead, and he planned to hit the fence on the first pass. However, as he got to the edge of the park, he realized there was one issue he couldn’t ignore.
“Shit. I can’t ensure we’re going to fit up the driveway. You’re going to have to get out and guide me in. Once I’m in position, I can give it some gas and go right through. But if I hit the guard shack or the post on the other side, we might end up popping our front tires.”
“Who cares? Bash it and knock over the fence. We can get in easily.”
Ted laughed. “I thought you wanted to c
arry stuff away.”
ER seemed to think about it. “Oh. Right. I see what you mean. Can’t take shit if our ride has flat tires.”
He put on the brakes about fifty feet from the fence. “After you.”
Ramirez climbed out of the cab and jogged onto the street. Ted noticed his rifle was still wedged against the seat, and he tried to call out through the passenger window, but the other man didn’t hear him. He leaned out his own window intending to be heard.
“Hey, dumbass—” he said before he cut himself short.
Motion caught his eye at the end of the block to the left. At first, he thought it was a small vehicle, like a four-wheel ATV that hunters used. However, it wasn’t a vehicle at all. The sleek thing had four metallic legs and a barrel-shaped body painted in woodland camouflage, along with a thin wedge of black metal for a head.
It moved in a straight line, with all four jointed legs working together to keep the body perfectly level, like a cat stalking its prey.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered.
ER had reached the fence and turned around to wave him in.
“Stop!” he said quietly, while trying to get the man’s attention over to the robot cat.
Lieutenant Ramirez either didn’t see him or didn’t understand his signals, because he continued to wave him over.
The robotic animal trotted toward ER, who finally noticed it.
Ted expected him to run back to the truck, but he held his ground and put his hands up.
“What are you doing?” he wondered.
The robot spoke with a female computer voice. “Security inquiry: please state your name and social security number.”
ER spoke in a serious tone. “I’m Thomas the Train. My number is 1-2-3-4-5. Does that compute?”
“Confirming,” the woman’s voice replied.
Ted considered using his rifle to do harm to the robot, but the machine was directly in front of the soldier. It would break about ten gun-handling rules he’d learned in basic.
There was only one real option at that point.
He stomped on the gas.
The truck lurched off the curb and into the street. He immediately had to shift into second gear because of his payload. The weight advantage that was going to destroy the gate also slowed him down.